


A Fool's Errand

by Omicheese



Series: Tales of Doriath [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Attempted Matchmaking, F/M, Gen, Young Love, young people doing stupid things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omicheese/pseuds/Omicheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galadriel was not eager to leave Doriath when her brother's business was completed.  She thus came up with a plan to hinder him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Connected to [The Coming of the Sun](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2706473) and [The Beginning of the End of the World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5113862/chapters/11765027), but hopefully makes sense on its own.
> 
> ‘Galadriel’ isn’t technically Galadriel’s real name, even though they use it in the published Silmarillion. ‘Galadriel’ technically means ‘maiden crowned with a garland of bright radiance,’ and Celeborn gave the name to her, according to something else Tolkien wrote. ‘Maiden crowned with a garland of bright radiance’ is a little long, though, so in this fic ‘glowing girl’ is used as a synonym.

“Hello, Celeborn.” She descended upon him out of nowhere.

Admittedly, Celeborn had not been looking up. It had been a few days since the last time he had seen her, and he would never have expected her to seek him out. He had promised to read and review some of Daeron’s latest poems, as Daeron was now convinced that Celeborn was a ‘kindred spirit’ and Celeborn had been unable to think up a polite way to refuse. At his best, of course, Daeron was gifted beyond anyone else in Doriath, but no elf was perfect. There were only so many words that rhymed with “Luthien,” and he had already used most of them. However, Celeborn had promised, so there he was.

“What are you reading?” She still had never stopped glowing.

Would he ever get used to it? For a moment, he could only blink at her while his eyes adjusted.

“Did you write these?” she asked him, turning her head in an attempt to read upside down. “I knew Luthien was well-loved, but I did not realize how much…”

“No, no, they are not mine, they are Daeron’s,” Celeborn spluttered, trying to hide the pages without damaging them, feeling his ears start to burn. “He is obsessed with her. We are getting rather sick of it, actually.”

Her eyes crinkled gently in the corners. “ _Are_ you?”

Celeborn felt guilty now. “That was harsh of me.” He so often spoke before thinking. Every single time, the first words out of his mouth were the wrong ones. “Daeron is brilliant. I do not want you to think he is not brilliant. And no one is truly sick of him. He is as popular as ever. He only—“

She raised a hand to stop him, smiling. “One of my cousin writes songs. He is the finest composer of all my people, but I can tell you from experience that after a while some of them start to sound derivative. I do not blame you for growing weary.”

“It is only because he is so prolific,” Celeborn tried to explain. “It allows him to practice his craft, try out all the possible lyrics and rhythms so that he can find what creates the best result. Only, inevitably, sometimes it does not turn out well. He has trusted me to read his unfinished work, and I do not want you to get the wrong impression.”

She stared at him in that strange way she had before, as though she was trying to see into him, but then she smiled again, almost appreciatively. “You are smarter than you look.”

Was that a compliment? It seemed rather backhanded. Did he look stupid? Then again, Sindarin was not her first language, and it was very rare that anyone called him ‘smart’ under any circumstances. “Most would disagree with you.”

She looked at him again, and quirked an eyebrow. “You are rather tired of him constantly talking about Luthien, though, are you not? You would not have said such a thing otherwise. It must get very redundant.”

‘Redundant’ was an overstatement, and he had already said so much that it was pointless to hide it now. “You have no idea.”

His face must have painted a clearer picture than his words, for she laughed. “Is it that bad?”

“I do my best to avoid getting him on the subject, but sometimes it is impossible. Everything seems to remind him of her. Then, once he is there, if he is not stopped he will continue for days.”

“And you have had to listen to all of this?”

“I have listened often enough. His older friends get the worst of it. But,” he added, starting to worry, “you will not let this get back to him. I do consider him a friend and I greatly respect him.”

She grinned. “Your secret is safe with me. Speaking of secrets,” she looked back at him almost sharply, though her voice was yet casual, “you did not tell anyone of what you heard the other day, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

He held her gaze. Something told him he should not look away. “It is not my information to tell.”

Her smile grew warmer. She had the loveliest cheeks—soft and rosy, almost pinching her beautiful eyes when she was pleased. Then she nodded as though she had made some sort of decision, and her look turned businesslike. “I believe I can trust your judgement. I would like your advice on something.”

“On what?”

“You have lived in Doriath for your whole life, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know many unmarried women?”

Celeborn knew _of_ several unmarried women, but he could not say he was well acquainted with any of them. Talking to people was not Celeborn’s specialty. “Why do you ask?”

“My brother does not realize it, but he is in dire need of a wife. I do not think it healthy for him to be unmarried at his age.” Her smile sparkled. “So I would like to help him with this.”

“Help him.” Celeborn repeated, just in case he was misinterpreting her. The way she said it sounded more to his ears like ‘meddle in his business’ than ‘help him.’

“Yes.”

Celeborn remained dubious. “Are you sure he would want you to interfere in his private life?”

“He does not know what is best for him.”

“And he will not be angry with you?”

She shrugged lightly. “He has never been prone to anger, and has had much greater cause for it than anything I can provoke. I doubt that it will be a problem.”

This sounded like a very bad idea, though Celeborn was having a difficult time articulating why. “And you are asking for my assistance in this?”

“Of course.”

“My lady, your brother does not like me.”

“He thinks you a fool, but he does not dislike you.”

“How nice.”

She laughed. “So will you help me?”

“I…” All of Celeborn’s basic instincts were telling him to avoid such a venture. Getting involved in the affairs of others seemed rife with the potential to go wrong. Celeborn tended to offend people simply by speaking to them—he would surely touch a nerve if he tried to interfere with matters so personal. Adding to that the social difference between himself and the Noldor, and the whole business looked like something he should not touch. At the same time, though, and increasingly overcrowding his normal priorities, he desperately wanted the excuse to spend more time with the glowing girl. ”I can try.”

She seemed to notice his trouble. “You are apprehensive.”

“I simply fear that this will backfire terribly.”

She waved a hand airily. “You need not worry about that.”

“Are you always so confident?”

She blinked at him, but then smiled brightly. “Why yes, I suppose I am.”

It was too much. In the face of such light, Celeborn could only concede. Caution be hanged. “Very well. What do you need?”

She seemed to glow even brighter. “If you know any eligible ladies, I will devise opportunities for my brother to meet them. If they spark, they spark; and if not, nothing lost. But he must not know our plan.”

This sounded reasonable, but there were gaps in the logic. “I have met your brother only once. How am I to know his taste in company?”

“We would be working together on this. We could meet up regularly to discuss how things are progressing.”

Was Celeborn hearing correctly, or did she actually want to spend more time with him? He must be mistaken. She had a project, and she needed his help with it. He could not deny that his heart felt warm at the prospect of seeing her again, but he must not lose his head. “My lady, how long will you be staying in Doriath?”

She suddenly frowned and did not answer. It was a very surprising gesture, coming from someone as beautiful as she, and, Celeborn realized, it was the first time she had broken eye contact throughout the entire conversation. “…I am not sure. There is yet some time.”

Perhaps he should not press on that subject. He wanted her to look at him again, as selfish as that felt. “And how will I find you?”

“I will find you.” And that was that.

~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are too many dudes in the Silmarillion and not enough ladies, so I had to add a few to balance things out. I got the names from [an online name generator](http://elf.namegeneratorfun.com/), because I can’t speak Sindarin to save my life (however much I would love to learn.)

“Thank you for volunteering to help me with the children today, Celeborn.”

“It is no trouble,” Celeborn replied, carefully prying a lock of his hair out of Nimloth’s chubby fingers and offering her a toy instead, which promptly went right into his infant niece’s mouth. Celeborn honestly liked children, and his sister-in-law appreciated whatever help she could get. However, today he had an ulterior motive for being here.

“So, you are not minding young Thranduil today?” Fongwen asked, bouncing Nimloth’s twin Halloth in her arms. One child would keep a wife busy enough, but two at once would try even the patience of elves, though Fongwen never complained. (Galathil did, though he did so only in private. He was prouder of his family than he could say, but in truth he missed the freedom to sleep undisturbed.)

“Thranduil is shadowing his father today. And he is no longer so young. If he gets into trouble these days, it should not be my fault.”

“That will be for your mother and cousin to decide,” Fongwen laughed. Now was probably a good time to ask.

“Fongwen? Do you know many single women?”

Fongwen’s eyes suddenly sparkled in her usually calm face. “Are you finally looking to start courting?”

“No!” He immediately regretted this entire plan. “No, I am asking for a friend.”

“Of _course_. You know, your brother was about your age when he started courting me. He was so sweet. He kept finding excuses to come speak to me. He even pretended for decades that he was interested in fancy pigeons because he thought I bred them.”

“I am _not_ looking to start courting.” This was not entirely true, but he certainly was not looking for a woman to court. He could not imagine fancying anyone but the glowing girl, and he harbored no hope of actually courting her. He would be a bachelor for all eternity.

“There are some lovely girls in our embroidery circle. Your mother and I speak of you often there. I am sure they would love to meet you.”

“I do not mean me! And—and you talk about me to girls?”

“Of course we do.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“We talk of everything, and you so often do interesting things. Ninniach’s rabbits are not half so interesting. Do you remember the time you bumped into the ambassador from the Falas’s chair and caused it to break under him, and his jaw collided with the table on his way down and he lost a tooth? The ladies were laughing for weeks.”

“Perhaps this is a bad idea.”

“No, no! We meet tomorrow. You should come.”

There was no way out of this, was there. “May I bring company?”

~


	3. Chapter 3

“G-good shot,” Celeborn coughed as the air returned to his lungs.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “You really must learn to block those.”

“I shall keep that in mind.” Though Thranduil resented it, Celeborn was relieved that Mablung decided that neither of them were ready to practice with live steel. Celeborn did well enough in drills these days—marching, holding a shield wall, repelling attackers, not getting shot—but his results in single combat remained abysmal. It was much better to be bruised by a stick than to be sliced open.

“Another round?”

“I think not.”

“Very well,” Thranduil smirked. “When you get killed from lack of practice, at least it was your choice.”

Celeborn threw his practice sword at Thranduil’s head, but predictably missed. It was very frustrating to be so uncoordinated and have such an obnoxious cousin. Celeborn took a deep breath and tried to move on. “What are your plans for the day?”

Thranduil shrugged slightly as he handed Celeborn’s sword back. “I have found that shadowing my father is unspeakably dull. I have no interest in government. In a bizarre turn of events, I would actually rather voluntarily spend the day with you. So it will depend entirely on your plans.”

“I think I shall be quite as dull,” Celeborn sighed, taking back his sword and using it to push himself off the ground and into a standing position. “I have to go to the embroidery circle today.”

“Why in the world would you want to do that?” Thranduil wore a face as though he had been asked to eat grasshoppers. “Is your mother making you go?”

“No…”

“Are they trying to set you up with one of the spinsters?”

“I believe Fongwen is hoping for such a result, but I agreed to go because his Majesty’s niece expressed an interest in meeting more women.” Celeborn had promised not to let their plan get back to Lord Finrod, so it was probably best to reveal as little of it as possible. Who knew where gossip flew in this country? “I told her I would help her.”

“She actually talked to you?” He seemed surprised.

“Yes.”

Thranduil tilted his head and frowned. “Is the king’s niece a lesbian? Is she seeking a wife?”

“What? No!”

“I think Lachwen and Merenien from the dance club are lesbians.”

“That—how would you know that?”

“I have an eye for that sort of thing.”

Celeborn blinked. “…You can detect lesbians?”

“ _No_ ,” Thranduil threw him a scathing look and rolled his eyes, “I can tell when people are interested in each other.”

“That does seem much more plausible than my idea,” Celeborn mused, thinking it over. “…I did not know that they were interested in each other.”

“You do not generally attend the dance club.”

This was true. Celeborn shrugged it off. “Either way, it is none of my business, and if his Majesty’s niece is a lesbian then that is also none of my business.”

“It would guarantee that you have no chance of courting her,” Thranduil sneered, “though I doubt your chances are any higher if she _is_ seeking a husband.”

“Thank you for reminding me, really.”

“So, you have agreed to help her find a lover—”

“That is definitely not what I am doing.”

“—and so you are off to meet the women of the embroidery circle. Have you ever attended embroidery circle?”

“I have not. Have you?”

“My mother brought me once, and I nearly died of boredom. You would do much better to meet women at dance club instead.”

“Except that apparently the dance club is full of lesbians.”

“Only a few, and if that is what the lady is seeking—”

“ _No_.”

Thranduil brushed away the complaints and continued the conversation unperturbed. “So, if the lady is not a lesbian, why must you introduce her to women?”

“I believe she just wants to meet people. She is all but alone in Doriath, after all. It would do her well to make friends.”

“I see little point in it. It is not like she will be staying here.”

Thranduil said it so carelessly, but Celeborn felt a cold weight in his stomach. He had hoped to avoid thinking about this for at least a while longer. “…I know that.”

“You would be better off settling for one of the spinsters in embroidery circle. Perhaps they are more charming than I remember.”

“Or I could simply not marry anyone ever.”

“You sad, lonely thing.” Thranduil laughed. “If you are going to embroidery circle, and Fongwen and your mother attend embroidery circle, and your brother is off doing whatever it is he does, who is to be minding your nieces?”

“I believe Fongwen asked Nellas to look after them today.”

“That will make her happy.”

“Who is Nellas?” a voice asked sweetly.

Celeborn nearly fell over. Even Thranduil, usually so composed, looked as though he had choked on wine.

The glowing girl laughed. “Hello, Celeborn. What were you talking about?”

“Nothing important,” he answered quickly. Possibly too quickly. She locked eyes with him, staring as though she suspected they had been talking about her. Perhaps he could distract her by changing the subject. “Ah, have you met my cousin, Thranduil?”

“My lady,” Thranduil greeted smoothly with a bow, smiling.

She smiled back at him and nodded politely. She said nothing—another chance to learn her name lost.

“So, my lady, what brings you here?” Thranduil asked. His eyes flicked between the two of them. He was no doubt waiting for Celeborn to make a fool of himself. Again.

“I heard that you could be found here. I have come to speak with Celeborn.”

“What could possess you to want to do that?”

“My lady,” Celeborn cut in, not wanting Thranduil’s involvement, “this afternoon the embroidery circle is having their regular meeting. I have been asked to attend. Would you like to accompany me?”

She looked back at him and smiled again. Her smile was dazzling. Celeborn nearly forgot what he had even asked, but she said, “I would love to.”

“You know, I think I will come with you,” Thranduil grinned, jolting Celeborn out of wherever his mind had been. “Embroidery circle seems like it will be much more entertaining than I had expected.”

“Do you not have something better to do?” Celeborn asked, knowing otherwise yet hoping desperately that he did.

“No,” Thranduil replied cheerfully. “Shall we?”

~


	4. Chapter 4

“Why Celeborn, when you asked if you could bring company, I thought that you had meant young Thranduil!” Fongwen seemed quite surprised, but she was smiling nonetheless. Though Celeborn was sure that they had arrived on time, she already had her work spread out around her—piles of fine, grey fabric, with spools of blue and silver thread.

“You are quite welcome here, my lady,” Celeborn’s mother said to the glowing girl, smiling her softer home smile rather than her court smile. “My name is Lhindis, but I am sure we all know your name.”

The glowing girl smiled back. Was her name really that obvious? How could Celeborn have missed it? It was far too late to ask now. “Thank you for letting me join you today. It was Celeborn’s suggestion.”

“That was thoughtful of him. My son is less and less a fool these days, it seems.”

“Mother!”

“May I introduce you?” she continued, ignoring Celeborn’s outburst. “Next to Celeborn is my daughter-in-law, Fongwen. My son Galathil is spending today in a budget meeting. To Fongwen’s right is Gwenniel Glamoroniel. Young Thranduil’s mother Merileth sits next to her, then Ninniach Nidaeriel, Fennel, and finally Thannith Alfiriniel.” Each woman smiled, and some waved, when they were introduced. “Please, sit wherever you wish. We have spare materials of all sorts.”

Thranduil took the seat next to Celeborn, unfortunately. He had to have done it on purpose, judging from the smirk on his face. The glowing girl sat further away from them, next to Thannith. Beside such brightness, Thannith seemed even colder and harsher than usual.

Celeborn knew of Thannith, more than he actually knew Thannith. She was much closer in age to Galathil, and her younger brother practiced archery rather than swordplay. Thannith grew the best watercress in all of Doriath, among other things. She was currently embroidering some leaves into the cuffs of a dark green hunting coat. Celeborn had always thought her very intimidating and did his best to stay out of her way. She was, however, one of the few unmarried women attending. She, Gwenniel, and Ninniach were the only options, if the glowing girl intended to follow through with her plans.

The meeting began quietly, which admittedly was not what Celeborn had expected. He really should have realized that embroidery circle would entail actual embroidery, rather than telling tales all afternoon. He had been offered fabric and floss to work with, but it had taken him some six minutes even to successfully thread a needle. The glowing girl caught his eye and looked to be suppressing laughter. Of course she was as perfect at this as she was with everything. Celeborn could feel his ears start to burn.

“So, Celeborn,” his mother began in a light tone. “I had not realized you knew his Majesty’s niece. You never told me how the two of you met.”

Oh no. This had to be a trap. “Did… did Saeros not tell you?”

“He did.” The light tone was gone. “You did not.”

“…Oh.”

Gwenniel looked up eagerly from her work, sewing little white clouds into the hem of a dress. “Oh! What happened?” A mutual love of gossip was probably the foundation of Fongwen and Gwenniel’s friendship, forged all those years ago. She was Nandorian and did not spend much of her time in Menegroth, preferring instead to wander under the trees with her birds. As such, on the occasions when she came to town, she soaked up all the stories and rumors she could lay ear to.

“Since Celeborn is here today, I think he should tell us himself.” It was impossible to get anything past Celeborn’s mother. She was easily one of the sharpest people on his Majesty’s council, and she did not tolerate nonsense.

“I…” The ladies looked at him eagerly and his heart sank. He had known this would be a bad idea. “Well, I did not plan it that way. I was just passing by.”

“And…?” His mother did not blink.

“I asked Celeborn’s help in spying on my brother’s conversation with their Majesties,” the glowing girl came to his rescue smoothly, “though in the end we did not hear anything terribly interesting. I suppose that is because we were caught.”

“Why would you be spying on your brother?” Thranduil’s mother Cousin Merileth asked, looking slightly scandalized. Cousin Merileth was her Majesty’s chief lady-in-waiting, and was almost painfully proper at all times. She was working on a quilt, from the look of it.

“Why not?” The glowing girl grinned, catching Celeborn’s eye again. “I believe it is his fault for not having been honest with me in the first place. He is stubborn, once he is set to something. I think that may run in the family, unfortunately.”

“I do not recommend spying on him again,” Celeborn’s mother warned, but she then sighed and rolled her eyes. Thankfully she was not actually upset. “His Majesty is unpleasant in his anger. You are lucky no one was offended.”

Thranduil seemed offended, though. “You were out spying, and you did not bring me with you?”

“Thranduil!” his mother snapped.

“It is not like I went out that day with the intention of spying,” Celeborn added, frowning at Thranduil, who was still staring at him incredulously.

“That is not the point!”

Gwenniel giggled. “You two are always doing such interesting things!”

Fongwen asked, “Tell me, what is Lord Finrod like? If you do not mind me asking,” she added, looking at the glowing girl for approval, though with absolutely no shame. “He has made only the one public appearance since your arrival.”

“That is actually rather unusual, for him,” the glowing girl sighed. “Ordinarily he loves people and spends almost all of his time around them. He makes friends everywhere he goes. Indeed, it is rather difficult to stop him. I suppose he must be working hard at something, that it would keep him from socializing.”

“What is his work?” Thannith asked, looking up for the first time since the meeting had started.

The glowing girl seemed not to have considered this question before. She mulled over it for a moment, sewing a few stitches of gold thread into something white, before settling on, “His work is government, I suppose.”

“Is he hoping to model our government and bring it to your people? I had thought that the Noldor preferred to mind their own affairs.” This was more words than Celeborn had ever heard from Thannith in a single stretch. Perhaps she had been quiet earlier because she preferred more substantial topics of conversation.

“We do, this is true. I am not sure what he is planning,” the glowing girl pondered, but added, “You could ask him. I am sure he would not mind.” Celeborn knew why she caught his eye this time—this was going perfectly according to plan.

“Embroidery circle is not for politics,” Celeborn’s mother warned, giving Thannith and the glowing girl her court smile, the one that gave no room for arguing. The glowing girl shrugged and smiled back cheerfully. Thannith nodded once, and cast her eyes back down to her sewing.

“Yes, no talking about work here,” Ninniach agreed, nodding. She was a healer, and one of the most capable, though certainly not the softest spoken. “I doubt that any of you want to hear about the new poisonous vine we found growing just outside the northern border of the Girdle. I think it is the work of that hideous spider creature. It causes the most unsightly blemishes—”

“My lady,” Mablung’s wife Fennel cut in, quickly but kindly, “what are you working on?” Fennel was awfully shy and very seldom left home, so it was rare to see her in person. It was much more common to see her work—marvelous fabrics of all varieties, which her niece occasionally brought to market for her. She was embroidering vines around the edges of a fine, soft-looking cloak that she had probably woven herself.

“This will be a pocket handkerchief for my brother, I think.” The glowing girl spread it out on her lap. The designs along the edges were unlike anything seen around Doriath, or even at the Falas—hard lines and sharp angles and repeating patterns, almost like what the dwarves wore. It was unnatural, and yet quite beautiful.

“Lord Finrod?”

“No, actually,” the glowing girl refolded the linen, “I had intended this for my brother Orodreth. He is by nature the least flashy of us all. Finrod tends to prefer brocade and sparkles, even on his handkerchiefs.”

“How many brothers do you have?” Celeborn asked, slightly surprised, for the tone of her voice suggested more. He himself had only the one sibling, and he knew no one with more than two.

“Four, though that seems nothing when you consider all my first cousins.” She shrugged. “I have three cousins on the one side, but seven on the other.”

“Who could have _seven_ children?” Cousin Merileth was shocked. Of course, with a son like Thranduil, it seemed quite reasonable that Cousin Merileth would want no more children. Something of Celeborn’s sentiments must have been apparent on his face, because Thranduil dug an elbow into his side.

“My aunt Nerdanel is a remarkable woman.” The glowing girl looked uncomfortable for a moment, so brief Celeborn was not sure he actually saw it, and added, “For more reasons than one.”

“My lady, how can you tolerate having that many cousins?” Thranduil asked, deliberately leaning so as to drive his elbow further into Celeborn’s ribs. “One is bad enough.” 

Celeborn was mature and did _not_ kick him, though he certainly wanted to. Gwenniel giggled again. “I must assume it is the quality of the cousin and not the quantity of cousins that truly drives one mad,” Celeborn retorted. “Only I am so unlucky that I must put up with you.”

“Do you remember when you fell in love with the Sun?” Thranduil asked unexpectedly. Many of the ladies started to laugh. The glowing girl’s eyes widened and she stared.

It was impossible for Celeborn to forget, and would be even without people reminding him. “How is that relevant to _anything?_ ” He could feel his ears begin to burn again, and he did his best to avoid eye contact with anyone.

“It embarrasses you and it pleases me, therefore it is always relevant.” Thranduil grinned, abandoning all pretense of sewing anything. He had never really been trying.

Thranduil was simply annoying on his own, but to taunt Celeborn like this in company—the company of the lady, no less—was excruciating. “Sometimes I cannot stand you.”

“Only sometimes? Ai, I am failing!”

“Speaking of failing, have you learned to write yet?” It was a low blow, but anything would do at this point.

Thranduil’s smile was gone in an instant. “I hate you.”

“Thranduil!” Cousin Merileth scolded him again, but several of the ladies laughed harder. “You are far too old to continue acting out in this way! Young Celeborn should be setting a better example for you,” she went on, throwing Celeborn and his mother both a dirty look. For her part, Celeborn’s mother ignored it, but Celeborn could feel the burn spread from his ears to his cheeks. This day could not possibly have gone any worse.

“Do your brothers tease each other like this?” Thannith asked the glowing girl, sounding almost interested. “Mine never treats me like that, but perhaps it is because we are brother and sister.”

“It is not behavior fit for ladies!” Cousin Merileth chided, “nor fit for the company of ladies,” she continued, sending another icy look toward Celeborn’s end of the circle.

“My brothers do tease each other sometimes, the younger two most of all. Yet,” the glowing girl seemed to be choosing her words carefully, “I find that most often the one causing mischief is myself.”

The ladies laughed. The color drained from Cousin Merileth’s face, and she had no further comments.

*

“That was fun,” the glowing girl told him after everyone had left.

“That was… something.” Celeborn still felt he could not look her in the eye. He seemed to exist solely for the purpose of humiliation.

“Did you really fall in love with the Sun?”

“…Sort of.”

“That sounds sweet.”

“It was actually very painful,” Celeborn remembered. The stinging and headaches had lasted for a week. She laughed. “I apologize that nothing was really accomplished today,” he added, remembering her plan.

“Yes, we did not get to talk about my brother very much,” she agreed, folding and refolding the square of linen she had worked on. “I think Miss Thannith may be interested, but it may prove difficult to get the two of them in the same place at the same time. Still,” she looked over at him and smiled, “I do not consider it time wasted. I was able to meet several interesting people today, even if my brother does not choose to marry any of them. And, of course, time spent with you is never wasted.”

Celeborn looked up. “With me?”

“Of course! You are my only friend here, after all. I enjoy your company.”

A friend. She actually considered him a friend. Even after undeniable proof of his foolishness, she wished for his acquaintance. A grin spread across Celeborn’s face. “And I yours, my lady.”

~


	5. Chapter 5

“Artanis? Where have you been?” Finrod seemed distracted, rifling through papers. 

Artanis tried to read over his shoulder, but the writing was unfamiliar—sharp, angular, almost like carvings. “I was out among the people of Doriath, as I notice you have not been.”

“I have been very busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“You know full well!”

Of course she knew, but it still did not add up. She needed _all_ the information. “I do not see how you can be working on some secret fortress from here.”

He had found the paper he wanted and was rereading it, though how he was capable of such a thing was beyond her. He was better with languages than she, yes, but could he really learn it so quickly? “I have been making arrangements. There are a lot of preparations involved in this sort of venture.”

“Such as?”

Finrod sighed. He was so patient—he only ever really got frustrated when dealing with her. She was actually rather proud of that. “Elu Thingol has suggested a good location, but he has not travelled there himself. I have been working things out with some people more familiar with the site. They are quite fascinating people, actually. They have hair that grows on their faces! It is very strange. Very unlike us, but similar in the important things.”

“So you _have_ been spending all this time socializing!” She knew it was impossible to keep her brother away from people.

“Unfortunately, no. We have only been able to discuss business thus far. Apparently these people do not live for very long? And they seem to need to sleep almost every night. I do not really understand it, but for whatever reason they do not have the time to simply sit and talk like normal people. And, for that matter, neither do I. I cannot sit idly until I know that the project is finished and we are safe.”

She pressed her lips together to avoid pouting—she was far too old for that now. “We are perfectly safe here in Doriath.”

He saw right through her, of course. He was very good at that. “But what of everyone else? They cannot all come here. I doubt Elu Thingol would accept it. You must not be so shortsighted, Artanis. That is unlike you.”

“Do you really mean to bring all of the Noldor with you to this place?”

“Of course not. They will not all come.” He seemed disappointed. No doubt he would bring them all, if he could. Finrod loved even the least tolerable of relatives. “But those who want to follow me, those who want a place to live, I mean to give them that. As soon as possible.”

“So you really have no time to relax?”

“Very little.”

‘Very little’ was not ‘none.’ This was an important distinction. Yet she was running out of time.

*

“I know what you are doing,” Thranduil hissed.

Celeborn was reading and had not even known Thranduil was there, but he tried to keep his face blank. He would not give Thranduil the satisfaction of catching him off guard. “So you _have_ learned to read tengwar, and you can recognize a budget when you see it?”

“Very funny.” Thranduil scowled, but quickly returned to his pestering. “I mean you and his Majesty’s niece. You are trying to find a girlfriend for Lord Finrod.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Celeborn had never been good at lying. Thranduil did not even bother acknowledging it. “Why did you not solicit my advice? I have far better social skills than you.”

It was always terribly frustrating when Thranduil was right. Celeborn sighed and set his papers down. “She asked me to ensure that the plan did not get back to him.”

“Then you should really be more subtle, the both of you. Besides, he will never know. My father tells me that Lord Finrod holes himself up in negotiations with the dwarves all day and speaks to no one else.” Thranduil seemed to think about it for a moment, before deciding, “He must be miserable.”

“Not everyone is so impatient as you.”

“But really,” Thranduil went on, “you definitely need my help if you actually want to be successful in this.”

Celeborn raised an eyebrow.

Thranduil stared right back, smirking. “From what I hear, you are going to need something big if you want to get Lord Finrod out of that room. You are not influential enough to pull an event like that together.”

“And you are?”

The smirk got wider. “Unlike you, I have friends.”

~


	6. Chapter 6

“Hello, Celeborn.”

The glowing girl turned up during fighting practice in the forest this time. Celeborn still had no idea how it was she found him, but he was growing less and less surprised that she did. “Hello, my lady.”

The drill instructor noticed them. “Do you mean to fight, or do you mean to talk? Either save the conversation for later, or leave.” She did not need to speak loudly—Aunt Orneth’s voice had a strange way of carrying no matter what the background noise.

Celeborn was about to apologize to the glowing girl, but to his surprise, she called back, “Are there spare swords?”

“You intend to fight?” he asked her incredulously.

“Why not?”

“Wearing that?”

“Of course!” She was already rolling up the long, flowing sleeves of her ornate gown and tying back her hair. There seemed no point in arguing.

She was terrifying. Beautiful, and fascinating, and terrifying. He could hardly take his eyes off her, which unfortunately made it very difficult to pay attention to the fighting. Training arrows and wooden swords nearly took his head off several times. She herself nearly ‘killed’ him twice. Thankfully, years of practice had given him good muscle memory in his shield arm, allowing him to protect himself and stare at her at the same time. He seemed to be the only one capable of such a feat, however—several trainees were eliminated from the exercise within the first few moments, distracted either by her beauty or simply that she was always glowing.

“You are excellent!” she told him after drills were over, walking back towards Menegroth. She seemed even brighter with the exercise.

She had to be joking. “I did not make a single kill, if you noticed. It was all I could do to keep up.”

“But you survived so much longer than anyone else! I think you are the only person who remained standing the entire time. Even I was caught once.” She sounded slightly bitter about it. She seemed unused to losing at anything.

“Do you know who hit you?”

“I think it was your cousin.”

Celeborn rolled his eyes. “He would.” She was still frowning, so he changed the subject. “Is there any word yet of how long you will be staying in Doriath?”

She inhaled sharply as though wincing. Perhaps Celeborn should not have brought that up. But she quickly shook her head. “No news. My brother is yet deep in deliberations. I tried to read his papers and learn what he is up to, but I cannot understand anything they have written. The letters are strange.”

“How so?”

“It looks nothing like writing at all. The paper is covered in sharp, blocky symbols.”

Celeborn had not expected that. “Cirth?”

“What?”

“Cirth. It is our old writing system. Daeron created it, but only the dwarves really like it.”

She stared at him intensely. “You must teach me to read it, when we have the chance.”

“Of course, my lady, if you wish it.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, and added, “You know, you really need not call me that. We are friends. I appreciate the respect, but it is unnecessary.”

Oh no.

She had noticed. “Is something wrong?”

His blood felt frozen. He knew it would have had to come to this eventually, but somehow he had convinced himself that he could put it off indefinitely. “You are going to hate me.”

“Why?”

He took a deep breath. The friendship had been so nice while it lasted. He would always treasure the memories deep in his heart, no matter how brief it had been. “I have no idea what your name is.”

Her stare went abruptly blank.

“I missed it when you were first introduced,” he went on, closing his eyes, deciding it was best to come entirely clean all at once rather than to drag his agony out, “and I never heard anyone say it since. I have been mentally referring to you as Galadriel.”

One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Then suddenly she was laughing.

Cautiously, he opened an eye, then both, to see her nearly keeling over with laughter. There were tears in her eyes, and her cheeks were flared pink. After several attempts, she finally choked out, “That is the sweetest, most flattering nickname I have ever been given.”

“You… you are not angry?”

“Of course not!” After several deep breaths, the giggling finally began to subside, but her shoulders were still shaking. “If you are wondering, my name is Artanis, but I may like Galadriel better. I think I will use it.”

He blinked. “Really?”

She smiled, and it felt like she was trying to gaze into his soul. “I like it. You came up with it.”

Though only moments ago Celeborn’s blood had seemed ice, he now felt as though his skin was on fire. Love was apparently a very uncomfortable sensation—did he seriously just think the word ‘love’? He was _definitely_ too far gone. This could not end well. “Have you many nicknames?” he asked in an attempt to deflect the conversation away from himself, breaking eye-contact.

“A few, though none of them very nice. It is the way with siblings and being the youngest, you know. Many years ago, my brothers took to calling me ‘Bossy Britches.’ My brothers Angrod and Aegnor will still call me that sometimes. Orodreth tends to prefer a very sarcastic ‘Princess Perfect,’ and Finrod has referred to me on more than one occasion as the ‘Great White Nag.’ Yes, you may laugh.”

Celeborn looked back at her despite himself. “‘Great White Nag’ is actually quite witty, in terms of insults. Is it still a pun in your language?” He knew he had made a mistake before the words had even finished crossing his lips. Why could he not have been born with at least an ounce of tact? He immediately tried to backtrack. “Not that you are in any way horselike. I did not intend to suggest…” This was not helping. “Never mind, excuse me.”

Her face was inscrutable. She stared at him long and hard for several seconds before finally telling him, “…You may be clever, but you are rather stupid sometimes.” She did not sound particularly offended. There was no venom in it—her tone instead made it seem that she was confirming something she had long suspected.

All in all, her reaction could have been much worse. Celeborn allowed the air to leave his lungs. “Of this I am regularly reminded.”

“But,” she went on, and her eyes softened, “you have your moments. I like ‘Galadriel.’” She untied her golden hair and shook it out, looking more like the Sun than ever. “I will let you know of our plans as I learn them.”

~


	7. Chapter 7

“You went and talked to his Majesty?” Celeborn gaped at Thranduil. This was brazen, even for him.

“Of course not,” Thranduil scoffed, waving a hand airily as he doodled in the margins of the paper he was supposed to be writing upon. “You have never truly appreciated the usefulness of gossip. I simply mentioned it to my mother. She brought it up with Lady Luthien, who thought it was an excellent idea and made the suggestion to Daeron, who always listens to her. Then Daeron arranged it with his Majesty. So now there is an official concert and social dance in Menegroth in three days’ time. Tell your lady love to make sure Lord Finrod attends, or all my efforts will have gone to waste.”

“She is not my lady love.”

“Obviously. She is well out of your league. Yet still you fancy her.”

“Lady Artanis and I are friends. There will never be anything between us.” He said it more to remind himself than to correct Thranduil. Their closeness over these last few days had surely gone to Celeborn’s head, and he was losing sight of reality.

“So you have finally learned her name, then?”

Celeborn wondered if he would ever grow out of the urge to kick his cousin. “You could have told me, and saved me a great deal of awkwardness. You should be writing, by the way.”

“It was more fun to watch you suffer.” He finished the last few lines with a flourish and tossed the paper towards Celeborn. “There.”

“You misspelled ‘government.’”

“Must you find fault in everything?” Thranduil scowled, yanking the paper back and scratching his pen as though he was wreaking revenge upon it. “I still think writing is pointless.”

“One day you will learn patience.”

“And yet you will never learn to stop embarrassing yourself.”

“So says the one who misspelled ‘government’ in the title of an essay about the government.”

Thranduil threw his pen at Celeborn’s face and splattered him with ink.

~


	8. Chapter 8

“Yes, it was Lady Luthien’s idea,” Daeron explained fondly, that vacant smile spreading across his face as it always did when he spoke of her. “She said it was such a shame that her cousin Lord Finrod had spent so long in Doriath and not been able to mingle with the people. He must be in need of a break to preserve his mental health.” He plucked a few strings of his lute to check that it was in tune and made a few adjustments. “It was so thoughtful of her! But, of course, this is Lady Luthien we are talking about, and she is nothing if not the most considerate soul in Doriath.”

Lady Luthien happened to be chatting with some friends across the dance hall from where Celeborn and Daeron were standing. Celeborn looked over at her. Was he hallucinating, or did she wink at him? It was impossible to tell with her.

“I hope she enjoys my newest songs,” Daeron sighed. “I have been working so hard on them. Thank you again for looking over them for me. It so helps to have a second pair of eyes.”

Celeborn had not the heart to tell him what he had thought of them. Instead he simply said, “It was no trouble.”

“So,” Daeron’s eyes came back into focus and fixed on Celeborn, “Speaking of romance, I understand that you have grown quite close to the Lady Artanis in these last few weeks.”

“W-what?”

“News travels, young Celeborn. I hear she is very seldom out of your company.”

Celeborn’s ears began to burn. “That—that is an exaggeration.”

“Really? Lady Luthien gave me the impression that the two of you were thick as thieves. Perhaps I misheard her? For I doubt that she could be wrong.”

“We are _friends_ ,” Celeborn insisted in all truth. They _were_ friends, and indeed Galadriel was quickly becoming one of the best friends Celeborn had ever known. He did not want to sully that with his foolish unrequited fancies. 

“Well, then I am glad you have made such a fine friend.” Daeron smiled kindly, but in his eyes there was a hint of pity and sympathy. He may be blind where Lady Luthien was concerned, but at the end of the day he remained a genius. “Just remember that at any time you may come talk to me, about whatever you wish.”

“I appreciate it,” Celeborn said, and meant it, but Mablung was hailing him from the other end of the room, and Celeborn took that opportunity to dodge out of the conversation.

After his customary punch in the arm (Celeborn had to flex his fingers to regain sensation in them), Mablung grinned. “Hello, Celeborn. I hear you have been doing well for yourself.”

Not more of this! “That is—”

“Orneth tells me you are improving,” Mablung clarified.

“…Oh.”

“What did you think I was talking about?”

“His Majesty’s niece,” Aunt Orneth cut in, answering Mablung’s question. Her arm bore a bruise that matched Celeborn’s, but she seemed to wear it more comfortably. She and Mablung had been friends for Ages. “Daeron was grilling him about her when you rescued him.” She nodded at Celeborn, which was more acknowledgement than most could ever get from her. She was technically Thranduil’s aunt and Celeborn’s first cousin once removed, but he had never been told to call her anything else. “And he is improving,” she added, still talking to Mablung as if Celeborn was not right there, though it was the highest praise she had ever given him. “His shield work is top of the class. Finally.”

“That is good!” Mablung smiled at Celeborn. “Those are the skills that will keep you alive. Attacking is easy. Protecting is difficult.”

“If attacking is easy, why am I still so bad at it?”

“That will come with time.”

Celeborn looked around for a moment. “Is Fennel not attending?” He was not entirely sure to whom he should pose the question—Fennel was Mablung’s wife, but she was Aunt Orneth’s closest friend, and his aunt probably saw her more often.

Aunt Orneth snorted. “We should consider ourselves lucky if we can get her to attend court every dozen years.”

“She is not coming,” Mablung explained, “but she did ask me to tell you hello, and ask you to give her compliments to the Lady Artanis. She was impressed with her stitching, but was a bit embarrassed to tell her in person.”

“Your friend fights very well,” Aunt Orneth suddenly mentioned, addressing Celeborn directly. “You should bring her again.”

“I did not exactly bring her…” Celeborn tried to explain, but could not find the appropriate words to describe the situation, and gave up. “I do not know how long she will be staying.”

“Hm. Pity. I would have thought— _Thranduil, if you spike that punch, you lose fingers_ ,” Aunt Orneth suddenly interrupted herself, voice reaching across the room to where Thranduil could be seen holding a bottle of something and looking like a deer caught in a bright light. She nodded at Mablung. “Excuse me while I dismember my baby brother’s son.”

“Please proceed,” Mablung dismissed her, nodding serenely.

She gave him half a smile and left.

Celeborn did not envy his cousin at the moment, though that was a very stupid move on Thranduil’s part. Just in case, he asked Mablung, “That is not my fault, is it?”

“I think that Thranduil is old enough now that his actions should no longer be considered your fault,” Mablung agreed, “though his parents may continue to blame you anyway. They are that sort of people.”

Suddenly, someone bumped into Celeborn and said, “Hold this.” Celeborn had no time to register who had spoken before they had run, but looking down he realized that Thranduil’s bottle of unknown alcohol was now in his own hand. It smelled sinister.

Mablung laughed riotously. “Old enough, perhaps; mature enough, apparently not.” Taking the bottle, he added, “Here, I will bring this to Beleg. Some consolation for minding the marches all by himself.”

Daeron began to get the orchestra into place. Saeros was already there, helping his wife tune a zither. The other instrumentalists trickled in at their own pace and began to prepare, testing their pipes, replacing reeds, applying rosin to their bows, sneaking sips of wine when they thought Daeron was not looking. Thranduil’s friend Merenien had already had so much that she was having difficulty finding her mouth with her recorder. Thranduil himself resurfaced among the performing dancers, who stretched their arms and touched their toes and readied themselves for the show. He was at least as graceful as any of them, so it was hardly surprising that he had been asked to participate.

Aunt Orneth returned to Mablung’s side, scowling. “He is swift, I will give him that.”

“You did not catch him?” Mablung looked at her with feigned shock. “And here I trust you with the security of Menegroth! How can I expect you to handle intruders when you cannot catch a child?”

She then punched Mablung in the arm, at about the same spot where he tended to punch everyone else. She had a different style, a sharp jab rather than a heavy-handed slam, but it was nevertheless the same gesture. Mablung laughed, completely unfazed.

“Is there a problem?” Cousin Oropher had arrived with most of the rest of the government.

“No,” they both said at once.

Cousin Oropher did not seem satisfied, and threw Celeborn a suspicious look as though whatever the problem was had been of Celeborn’s making, but left to go check in with Daeron anyway. Things would probably start soon.

Their Majesties entered shortly, with great splendor, and sat themselves near the front of the hall, but Celeborn almost did not notice them, for Galadriel and her brother were in their company.

She was beautiful. She was always beautiful, of course, but in the lights of the dance hall, wearing a gown of fine, gauzy material in the purest shade of white Celeborn had ever seen, with white gems sparkling at her neck and in her glorious golden hair, smiling to outshine all else, she was nigh overwhelming. She was not beautiful in the same way that Lady Luthien was—no, Luthien had an ethereal, shadowy, otherworldly beauty reminiscent of her mother, like starlight made solid, so perfect that she was almost uncomfortable to gaze upon. Galadriel was all warmth, all brightness, soft and alive and smiling. And she was smiling at Celeborn. She raised her eyebrows and made a tiny nod toward her brother, as if to say, ‘Look, I brought him!’

“The two of you are friends now, so I understand it,” Mablung asked Celeborn in an undertone.

“Friends,” Celeborn affirmed. Now was not the time to discuss it.

“Of course.” There was a tone in Mablung’s voice as though he was enjoying a private joke. “Congratulations.”

The music began. Celeborn had a very difficult time paying attention. Daeron was once again singing about Luthien, using some of the material from the poems Celeborn had reviewed, though thankfully not all of it. He had woven the best lines into a beautiful melody, rising and falling in perfect alignment with Luthien’s steps, blending euphoniously with the orchestration and choir into a rich texture, a tapestry of sound, that moved the dancers and wove through the hall into the ears of the audience. It might have been his best work yet. But every now and then, Celeborn recognized the lyrics and remembered what they used to be.

Galadriel caught his eye from across the room and grinned.

Celeborn managed to avoid laughing, but not without great difficulty.

As the affair wore on and the orchestra grew tipsier, the floor opened up to social singing and dancing. Daeron took requests, playing his greatest hits. Galadriel and her brother performed a Noldorin dance, striking and powerful and elegant and strange. Saeros and his wife sang a Nandorian duet. Finrod sang something absolutely lovely in what was probably Quenya, accompanying himself on a harp. Thranduil’s friends from dance club played and sang some nonsense songs that they were clearly inventing on the spot. Dance partners darted and leapt around the room, and solitary dancers whirled alone, flowing wherever the music took them.

Celeborn watched most of this from the sidelines. He was not much of a dancer himself, or at least not in comparison to others, nor did he consider himself proficient with any particular instrument. He could sing about as well as anyone else, and joined in with the crowd when he knew the words, but that was all. Honestly, he was fine with where he was standing. Staying still made it easier to watch Galadriel as she moved, and he did not want to miss even a moment. She looked so happy.

Unfortunately, Thranduil found him. “Where is my alcohol?” he whispered.

“Mablung has it.”

Thranduil made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. “I will never get it back now.”

“The band is drunk enough on wine,” Celeborn pointed out. “Why would you need extra?”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “If you will notice where Lord Finrod is standing.”

It was only then that Celeborn remembered what the actual point of the event was. Finrod was not hard to find—he _did_ seem to have a penchant for brocade and sparkles—but he was not dancing. Instead, he was lingering toward the back of the room, near the refreshment table, talking to Aunt Orneth.

“Those two _might_ work, but certainly not without a great deal of liquor,” Thranduil explained.

“I find it extremely unlikely that Aunt Orneth would marry anyone.” Not to mention that she looked quite uninterested in anything Finrod was saying.

“And I highly doubt that Lord Finrod would be her type, but still, it would have been worth a try.” Thranduil shrugged. “Only _someone_ gave my alcohol to the chief of security,” he added, scowling.

“Why do you even _have_ that?”

Thranduil was spared answering by Galadriel joining their company. “Hello, Celeborn.” The color was high in her cheeks from the exercise, but she looked slightly put out. She gazed wistfully in her brother’s direction. “I go to such lengths to get him here, and all he does is chat people up at the punch bowl.”

“I had a plan,” Thranduil complained, “but Celeborn ruined it.”

“He intended to get your brother drunk and try to set him up with our maiden aunt,” Celeborn explained.

She glanced over at them again. Aunt Orneth already seemed to have edged away, and Finrod had instead struck up an animated conversation with some harpists. “Oh, that would never work.”

“So I was thinking,” Celeborn agreed.

“Well, if you will not accept my help,” Thranduil sniffed, “then please excuse me.” And he flounced back to the dance floor.

Galadriel frowned. “I think your cousin does not like me.”

“I think my cousin does not like anyone,” Celeborn replied fairly.

She turned her eyes toward him. “Why are you not dancing?”

“I… “ It was best to be honest. “I dance poorly.”

She smiled. “Come dance with me. We can worry about Finrod later.”

“I will most certainly tread on your dress, if not your feet.”

“I do not mind.” She had already taken his hand and was pulling him forward.

If asked about it later, he would not have been able to describe it. He hardly knew what he was doing. He probably looked stupid. Yet she held his hand, and she smiled at him, and her eyes were bluer than the daylit sky and brighter than the stars.

Then she pulled close to him, and leaned into his ear, and whispered, “I see Miss Thannith in the corner over there.”

Celeborn had not known what he expected her to say to him, but that was not it. Very abruptly, he remembered that he was not, in fact, dreaming, and that he did exist in the realm of reality. And he tripped.

Galadriel caught him, chuckling. “We should introduce her to my brother,” she added, which was good of her, because Celeborn had all but forgotten the plan.

At the close of the song, they made their way toward Thannith’s corner. She did not smile, but her features seemed to soften slightly. Perhaps she appreciated the company. Galadriel handled the conversation, mostly niceties, before asking her, “Why stand all the way over here?” 

Thannith shrugged. “I do not much care for dancing. My brother insisted I come.” Her brother Tuidor, nearby drinking wine with some boys from archery practice, looked up and waved. “He said that young Thranduil told him that you, Celeborn, had some reason why you wanted me to be here.” Oh no. “Is that correct?”

Celeborn could have strangled Thranduil at this moment. “Well,” he had never been required to think this quickly in his life, “I remember that you had wanted to talk to Lord Finrod about Noldorin governance, and I knew that he would be here. If you did wish to speak with him, now would be a good opportunity. Especially considering that my mother is not here to tell you to avoid politics.”

Galadriel looked so impressed with him. Frankly, he was impressed with himself. He had never been good at improvising. Yet all he was saying was true.

Thannith seemed surprised. “I would, actually, if it is not above my station to do so.”

“Allow me to introduce you,” Galadriel beamed.

Finrod was speaking to Lady Luthien as they approached. “If you will excuse me, cousin, I wanted to talk to Daeron about something,” she told Finrod, and again, Celeborn could have sworn that he saw her wink at him.

“Finrod,” Galadriel prompted, “I understand that you have already met Celeborn Galadhonion.”

“My lord,” Celeborn bowed. Finrod smiled kindly, but Celeborn could tell that Finrod still thought him a fool. He doubted he would have the opportunity to prove otherwise.

Galadriel went on, “I would also like you to meet Miss Thannith Alfiriniel.”

“My lord.” Thannith curtsied.

“A star shines on our meeting,” Finrod greeted her, bowing politely back.

“Miss Thannith wanted to know about Noldorin politics,” Galadriel added.

“Oh, do you work in government?” Finrod asked Thannith, looking interested.

“I farm,” she answered shortly. “But I hear things from councilmembers, and I was curious if it was like that everywhere.”

“That seems fair!” Finrod smiled at her. He seemed to think it over for a moment, before saying, “I suppose the main difference between our government and yours is that your king rules much more directly than ours.”

Thannith raised an eyebrow.

Finrod explained himself, “Well, all Sindar listen to and obey Elu Thingol, yes? The council advises him, but everyone abides by his decisions. Meanwhile, my people never seem to agree on anything. For example, there is a large faction of Noldor that take orders only from my oldest cousin.” He looked slightly pained. “Thankfully, that cousin answers to our king, but he has enough power and support that he need not. If anything should happen to him, I highly doubt that his people would ever cooperate with us again.”

Galadriel rolled her eyes in such a dramatic fashion that she could have been Thranduil, and threw Celeborn a look that suggested she would be glad to be rid of them. He nearly laughed.

Thannith frowned. “This makes no sense. Are you not all one people?”

“Technically, yes, but we do not all live in one country,” Finrod pointed out. “My uncle is High King, but he has little direct authority over our people outside of his stronghold. The Noldor have bases across the north, and these bases each have their own leaders, usually one of my cousins. My cousins rule their people, and my uncle rules my cousins.”

“That seems impractical.”

“Indeed, it is,” Finrod agreed. “Communication alone is a major hassle.”

“Lady Artanis mentioned that you have many cousins.”

“Ten, yes, and between them and my brothers each one of us has roughly equal authority and a different opinion. So, every time our king wishes to do something, everyone argues about it for days on end, and nothing can be done until enough of us come to a consensus. Even then there is always the possibility that my cousins on the one side will simply opt out of the final decision.”

Celeborn could not refrain from commenting, “That is ridiculous.”

Finrod shrugged. “Unfortunately, I agree with you.” The ‘unfortunately’ stung Celeborn a little, even it did not seem ill-intended. From the Noldor he had met, they seemed to be a bit of a supercilious people, whether or not they were conscious of it. It did not seem altogether strange to Celeborn that they could not get along with each other.

“If governing is such a difficult process,” Thannith asked, “are they able to get much done while you are here? Or can they not decide anything until you return?”

“That is a good question,” Finrod frowned. “That is one of the reasons we are not staying long in Doriath. I intend to leave tomorrow.”

“ _What?_ ” Galadriel’s eyes snapped to her brother, staring at him as though he had hurt her.

Celeborn suddenly felt that he was intruding on a private family matter. Thannith seemed to be of similar mind, because she said, “It seems you have things to discuss. If you will excuse me,” and left.

Celeborn might have sneaked away at that point as well, but Galadriel grabbed his wrist and gripped it tightly. Had she even noticed that she had done it? She was still staring at her brother. “What do you mean, tomorrow?”

Finrod met her gaze, but looked uncomfortable. “Artanis, this is not the place to talk about it.”

“No, you will tell me _now._ ”

Finrod glanced over at Celeborn, who did his best to make himself invisible. Surely it was not working. Nevertheless, Finrod turned his eyes back to his sister and lowered his voice. “Artanis, you know as well as I do that Morgoth could attack any day. My negotiations are finished, that is the only reason I agreed to come out, and I want to begin working as soon as possible. We need to leave tomorrow.”

“And when were you going to tell me?” She stayed quiet, but her voice shook, and Celeborn could not tell whether it was out of anger or something else.

Finrod smiled at her sadly. “I did not want to ruin your evening.”

Galadriel then turned to look at Celeborn, staring into him as though she was trying to see his mind think.

Celeborn had no idea what she might have seen—he could not conjure a single thought. He stared back at her, trying to understand that this might be the last time he saw those eyes. “I… I will miss you,” was the best he could say. It seemed woefully inadequate.

But then she let go of his wrist. “I need to think. Please excuse me,” she muttered before leaving the room. She had gone so swiftly that Celeborn could only gape after her.

“Well, that went well,” Finrod said sarcastically as though to himself, and knocked back his goblet of punch. “I am sorry,” he added, this time to Celeborn. “This must be confusing for you.”

Celeborn did not know how to respond. ‘Confusing’ was an understatement. He had thought from the beginning that getting involved in Galadriel’s plans would be a bad idea, but he had never figured that this would be how it all ended. It seemed so anticlimactic.

“She needs some time to get used to the idea,” Finrod explained. “She has a habit of planning twelve steps ahead, so she hates having to make unexpected changes.”

“That makes sense.” Celeborn was unsure if he should go after her, but perhaps she wanted to be alone.

“Celeborn, may I ask you a question?” Finrod was looking at him as though sizing him up.

Celeborn nodded.

“How is it that you can maintain eye contact with her for so long?”

Celeborn blinked. That seemed a strange question. “Is it unusual for her to stare?”

“No,” Finrod shook his head, “she stares constantly, but very few can tolerate it. I do not enjoy it, and I am her brother.”

Her stare was definitely… intense, to put it mildly. No one stared like that. It really ought to make him uncomfortable, come to think of it. “It is not painful,” Celeborn rationalized.

“No,” Finrod conceded, “but does it not feel uncanny? It is like she is trying to hear your thoughts or something.”

Celeborn agreed with that, but still. He had embarrassed himself in front of Finrod before, so there was no shame in doing so again. “Her eyes are very beautiful, so honestly I do not mind,” he admitted. “I probably should mind, but I do not.”

Finrod blinked at him for a moment or two, but then chuckled. “Well, I can always rely on you to be candid.” He smiled. “I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Celeborn of Doriath, albeit for such a brief time.”

~


	9. Chapter 9

Melian knew everything that happened in her forest. Even with the loss of her foresight, she was very seldom surprised. So when the girl left, Melian knew where she would be.

Young Artanis sat in the Garden at the base of a large beech tree, crying. She looked up and tried to speak, but Melian raised a hand and sat beside her, waiting.

Eventually, the girl had cried enough. “I apologize,” Artanis said, wiping at her face with her sleeve.

“You are upset. Tears are only natural.”

“So Olorin used to tell me.” Artanis had caught her breath, and was starting to calm down. “I brought this upon myself, anyway. I got ahead of myself, and set myself up for disappointment.”

“I know of your plans,” Melian said. “It would have been a clever idea, had it worked.” 

“It was a fool’s errand,” Artanis chided herself, shaking her head. “I had been hoping that if my brother fell in love with someone here, it would convince him to stay longer. But I was deluding myself. I am not eager to leave, and I let that cloud my judgement.”

Melian watched her. “You better than most understand the forces that work in this world. You know what challenges your brother faces. He cannot stay in Doriath. The time has come for him to leave.”

Artanis sniffed. “I know. But that does not make it any easier.”

“Finrod must begin the task that the Lord of the Waters has assigned him. However,” Melian paused, and began to smile, “you are under no obligation to accompany him.”

Artanis looked up.

*

Finrod returned to their quarters to see his sister sitting on the couch, as though waiting for him. She was smiling. The room looked untouched. “…Artanis, why are you not packed?”

Her smile broadened. “I am not leaving. I can help you pack, if you wish.”

He had anticipated rebellion, but did she have to look so smug about it? “Artanis…”

“I have worked it out with Lady Melian. I am staying here.”

“Why?”

“ _Reasons._ ”

Finrod sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Artanis, does this have anything to do with that Sinda boy you have been pestering ever since you got here? Celeborn?”

“…Maybe.”

Finrod rolled his eyes. The Great White Nag always did as she pleased, in the end. He did not envy that Sinda boy.

*

Celeborn sat alone at the gates of Menegroth, gazing out at nothing in particular. He had been told that the Noldor left that morning, outside of the public eye. He had not had the chance to bid them farewell.

He did not know how to feel. He had not known her long. He clearly remembered what life had been like before he had met her. He had functioned in a world without her, and he would continue to do so.

Daeron’s songs made loss sound so dramatic. A stabbing pain through the heart, an icy winter wind, a crushing wave of water rising from the sea and drowning everything. Celeborn felt none of these things. Perhaps he had not known her long enough, that losing her would cause him pain. Instead, he felt… nothing.

He did not know how long he sat there. It came to his mind that someone might be looking for him, but he could not bring himself to move. Eventually, he remembered that he was supposed to lead shield drills in the evening, and Aunt Orneth would be upset with him if he missed it. Slowly, he got to his feet and dusted himself off. It would be a long day.

“Hello, Celeborn.”

~


	10. Bonus

“So the Noldor have left?” Mablung asked. “Pity.”

Daeron nodded, but he smiled. “Lord Finrod has left, but I understand that Lady Galadriel is staying.”

Mablung raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we are calling her now? It is cute. Sindarin names are easier to remember.”

Daeron’s smile widened slyly. “That is what _young Celeborn_ is calling her now, anyway.”

“Oh?” Mablung raised the other eyebrow and grinned. “Is that so?”

~


End file.
